That which I choose not to lose

The following is, quite obviously, an unfinished story. I didn't really want to post things that weren't complete on here, but i also don't want to lose them, and with my tendency for losing things... well. read on =)

It was late and the sky was dark. The houses on either side of the street were broken and depressed: no one lived here anymore. A single streelight in the exact center of the block flickered miserably on and off, on and off. There was no wind, but the trees rustled unnaturally anyway, as if to express their discontent with the stagnant air. The street was almost silent.
Almost, except for the faint click-clicking of a pair of strappy black heels on the sidewalk. They didn't click all the time: as they crossed over the piles of dead, wet leaves on the walk, the sound was muffled and barely audible. Each low tap echoed across the empty street, coming more quickly as they neared the streetlight. Halfway.
The tall, pale woman in the high heels stopped when she was directly under the flickering light and looked up, shivering. There was no moon in the night sky and the clouds obscured the tiny, twinkling stars which science told her were there. The streetlight was the only light, a fake light, and the woman hated the glow.
Very suddenly, the woman was almost overcome. She turned, heart racing, to find only her shadow behind her. She knelt quickly, setting the bundle which she had been carrying at the base of the lamp post, and then stepped away. Her hands flew instinctively to her head, covering her eyes, shielding her face. She rocked slightly back and forth, back and forth, whispering and moaning to herself. Oh God. Oh my God! What have I done?
She stood and watched the bundle, intently observing as it moved before her eyes. The bundle writhed and trembled slightly. A soft, plaintive cry rose through the air, reaching toward the woman helplessly. Why had she set the bundle there? She picked it up again, pressing it quickly against her chest. Tears streamed from her eyes and froze on her cheeks, burning. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, stopping the tears and the world all at once. When she could bear it, her eyes opened again and she continued down the street. Halfway there.

The last house on the block was old and diseased. The paint peeled off the rotting sides, and shards of glass littered the ground in front of two black holes where the windows used to be. Half of the second story was missing, scorched and charred away by some devastating fire that had gutted the rest of the house and forced the inhabitants to flee. The front yard was overgrown with weeds and heavy with dusty piles of ash. She stepped carefully through all of this, toward the house, but her dainty steps stirred the ash and it drifted off the ground and swirled around her, staining her clothes and tainting her lungs as she breathed it in.